This Story's Pages: Explanations of the World

For centuries, humans have searched for explanations about the existence of the world around us and our role within it. Some have found faith in religion; others discovered reason in science, and still others relied on cultural stories and practices passed through the generations. Though different, these avenues all serve a similar purpose in providing some comfort, understanding, and, often, happiness as the search continues for answers. Initially, adjusting to a new place involves simple adjustments: the tastes of new foods, finding a route for work, learning to co-exist with bugs (though I don’t think I’ll ever grow to like the cockroaches in the bathroom), and planning your day around the rainy-season daily down-pours. As time goes by, the adjustment becomes deeper and transitions to reconciling parallel explanations of the same world. We often get caught up in the names. But whether you call this universal human desire to understand the world around us the human spirit, mind, soul, psyche, essence, heart, inner force, intellect, brain, will, strength, none of these or all of the above, both the most enriching and the most challenging aspect of life at the intersection of cultures is picking treasures along the road without dropping your own essence along the way.

I had a beautiful afternoon a few weeks ago. I had been working in Kitgum district, which is to the north of Gulu en-route to Sudan. I am mesmerized by the hills and mountains in the distance, and on a sunny Sunday I convince a few friends to join me in climbing one of the smaller hills. We drive for about an hour and a half to get there, and find a medium-sized internally displaced camp at the bottom of the hill. We walk through Lagoro camp looking for a volunteer to take us up the hill. With the exception of small children waving at me and saying “Munu bye,” the equivalent greeting to foreigners of Mzungo how are you?, the camp is quiet. The huts are very close together and people sit around quietly, men discussing in small groups and women cooking. We climb the hill slowly and enjoy the beautiful views of the Agoro mountains on the border with Sudan and the endless green valley below. From above the camp looks so different, a complete change of perspective. I am surprised that while we were in the camp it seemed quiet and calm, from above we hear a loud sound track of camp life. All the conversation, jokes, radios, laughter and cries join into a loud and somehow beautiful human symphony. We sit at the top of the hill for a while, and my friend Sylvia tells me about her childhood growing up in Kitgum. There was a time when the rebels came to attack the part of town where her family stays. She was at home with her sisters and mother. They heard the rebels shoot at the door of a house and all the kids inside screaming, after which the rebels entered and abducted the children. The same happened at the next house. Sylvia’s mom told them to stay quiet no matter what happens. The rebels came, shot at the door, and when they hear no sound, they decided the house was deserted and moved on. That’s one of Sylvia’s stories, the strength of her mom, which she attributes to God. I look down at the camp below and think that each of the individuals there has a story, a quiet story. Together all the stories in the camp make legends, which are shared proudly and loudly. Even further, across the green valleys and mountains, as far as the eye can see, all the legends create the spirit of a place, the underlying beliefs, tradition, reasons, and habits that are so constantly in the background, we no longer hear them unless we’re new, and I’m still new, so I listen.

My work with Windle Trust continues to be very interesting. On of the advantages of working for a small, under-staffed NGO is that I have a lot of responsibility and I am learning so much. In the past few weeks, at different times I have been the psychosocial coordinator, field-office manager, accounting assistant, protection officer, and monitoring and evaluation consultant. I really enjoy the work and am getting a lot of support from my work colleagues. One of the highlights of the past few weeks was organizing a two-day teacher training for fifty-five teachers from forty-eight schools. The training was about teachers as actors in the provision of psychosocial support to youth. Topics included trauma and depression among youth, peace education, guidance and counseling, and monitoring of students’ well being. The teachers were eager to learn and participated with amazing cooperation. When I was not running around worrying about the logistics of the next session, I learned a lot. The session about guidance and counseling emphasized that although it is easier to give people answers in the form of advice, a much more helpful method is facilitating the personal search for solutions. I’ve found that extremely helpful in my work, and really see the difference when I treat beneficiaries as the responsible young adults we expect them to be. Making plans for the psychosocial support programme has been very fun. I feel like I made a wish-list of all the interesting projects I would like to work on, and have been approved to have a budget to implement them. In addition to continuing with the teacher training courses, we’ll also be creating a mental health referral system, youth groups, student workshops, and community meetings. The work on psychosocial support in consultation with many local experts has been a positive experience in how often beyond cultural difference hide complementary explanations of the world. The psychology language is laden with technical terminology: post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, inter-personal group therapy, networks of social support, etc and etc. The local explanations of youth affected by conflict sound drastically different. When a person kills another he is forever followed by the spirit of the victim. The spirit causes nightmares, strange behaviors, and even violence. The community responds by conducting traditional ceremonies including cleansing that pushes the evil spirit out and community discussions for reconciliation. The terms seem worlds apart, but beyond the language, they are quite similar. Possession by a spirit explains similar symptoms to many psychological disorders, cleansing is a process of dealing with guilt, and reconciliation is like counseling to find a way forward together. Perhaps psychologists are the spiritual healers of our times with similar potions and medicines and the ability to guide our feelings and thoughts.

Many aspects of the conflict in Northern Uganda which I did not understand before begin to make sense when I look at the situation through the local explanations. I’ve often wondered how people could forgive Kony for all his rebel activities and atrocities. A friend doing research on spiritual practices explains to me that many people think Kony is possessed by a spirit. He’s only agreed to peace talks because the spirit has left him, and in someway people see him as a victim. On the other hand people are extremely angry at the government for failing to protect them. Perhaps politics is beyond the realm of spirituality and without explanations for the hardship suffered at the hands of the government, people cannot forgive. When people talk about local justice and using reparations as a form of punishment, my initial reaction is how can a cow or the first harvest of maze replace a child killed or injured? On the surface, it is easy to ignore the spiritual consequences of these punishments: the local perceptions of working your own land for others as a debt for your crimes, and so they seem too weak. However, if peace is going to be sustainable, these local perceptions are as important as our international standards of justice and accountability. Perhaps most perplexing to me has been the mix of traditional beliefs and Christianity. On Sundays, any street leading to a church is flooded with people in their best clothes. To my close friends I ask tough questions, about how they can believe God looks after them when so much war and misery has happened? Their answer is simple but makes sense: among all the bad things that happened, they survived, they endured, and they are thankful. We define the world around us in contrast to our immediate surrounding. My immediate surrounding are spread out, and so I compare, and I feel sad that these days children here are thankful that finally they can sleep without anxiety of abduction. The sadness is because the gratitude reflects a tough reality that existed before which I wish no child ever had to go through. In Northern Uganda, people are thankful for improvements; they compare to the past and pray for a better future. As I discover local perceptions, attitudes and practices around me begin to make sense.

One of the things that frustrates me about some of the schools I visit is that I don’t sense the joy of education in the air. I think that education should be an opportunity to learn about the world and about ourselves and it should be fun and exciting. Instead, some schools are run like prisons: strict rules, rice and beans to eat everyday, being told when to read and what, and very little time for personal discovery. I recognize the importance of discipline, but I also think students would be more motivated if school was an encouraging environment. I am most surprised when I talk to students and they don’t expect any better from the schools. Through conversations I realize that education here is such a luxury, a privilege that so few can access, that the hardship at schools is viewed as the fair price to pay for education. I am touched by this dedication, but I continue to expect more. I believe that assisting students to think about their goals for education can happen without disregarding local practices but walking side by side. After all, I learn so much from adjusting to life here, and perhaps speaking out on some important issues can make that enriching cultural learning bi-directional.

I’ve also been working on a protection policy for our beneficiaries. Protection is an incredibly complex field of work and when successful in preventing harm to vulnerable people, it is almost impossible to measure or see. As I spend hours by the computer writing staff codes of conduct, reporting procedures, and plans for education and training, I start to ask questions. Protection from what? I’ve always had a view that childhood and adolescence are precious times in life and children and youth deserve to have happy and love-filled beginning to their lives. When I look around, this view of children is challenges. Children are always working here, whether it is at school or at home, they’re always cooking, washing, taking care of siblings, sweeping, digging in the field, and fetching water. It is rare that they just get to play. Although children are extremely precious and loves, adults are harsh with children, often reprimanding them for not doing enough work or not being obedient all the time. Most difficult for me is when children are punished physically. When I hear children crying, even screaming, I cannot understand how a parent can inflict such pain on his or her child. I find it difficult to understand how loving parent-children relationships can develop when children live in fear of being beaten by their care-givers. When I voice my opinion against beating, I am told that it is a tough world out there, and out there misbehavior has much more serious consequences. Unlike my view of children as special members of society with special privileges and rights, here children are mini-adults in training. I see there is some value to the local perspective of seeing children as capable members of society who contribute meaningfully to their families and are raised to be independent and strong. But I can’t make the leap to the other side, I still think there is value in protecting the joys of childhood. I stand at the intersection of cultures, and I feel lost.

I’ve really enjoyed my time in Kitgum. I made some new friends and got to know more family members, as Betty’s husband stayed in Kitgum with another an entire crew of children and youth they support. I shared a room with the girls, and the first night I could not sleep, being unaccustomed to the constant traffic in the house. A few weeks later, back in Gulu, it feels oddly quiet sleeping in my own room, and I miss the sounds of not being alone. I am amazed at how much we can get used to if we open our mind and heart. Probably my favorite aspect about Kitgum is the view from our office. Around five in the afternoon, when everyone is finished work and school, the field and the road to town fills with people, bicycles, cows, children, and motor cycles moving back home, sharing with others at the end of the day. It is a beautiful painting of life and oddly it reminds me of the crowds on the T in Boston or the Ottawa market on a busy summer day; human life is strangely similar. It has been raining a lot for this time of year (it is even cold at night). People are thankful for the rain, but are also weary as this unusual amount of rain goes against the seasonal cycle of planting and many with lose their crops. The river has come up higher than usual and there are always crowds around the river, making use of the additional water for washing, bathing, and the occasional group of kids having a fun time playing. At the same time, people tell me that when the river is high and helps people, it will require payment, and when it goes down it will take someone with it. Sure enough, life is both blessed and cursed by the rain. The valleys are amazingly green and some crops are flourishing, but others, like millet and sorghum are unable to cope with the water and wasted seeds litter the fields. People are saving the rain water and there are basins everywhere to ease the daily journey to the bore-hole, but at the same time, diseases like diarrhea, and even cholera, increase when water floods the densely populated area which lack proper sanitation. There is so much life around, from the cat that sneaked into our room to give birth, the tiny goats I helped feed at Sylvia’s house, and plants that are thriving you can almost see them grow. Yet, sure enough, in a few days, I hear a young boy has drowned in the river. Despite our efforts to control the environment around us, life, anywhere in the world, seems filled with good and bad, blessings, and troubles, birth and death, and the story about the river seems as good as any to explain these mysteries.

At the intersection of explanations, I chose not to chose, to accept parallel stories when I can, and to contribute to discussions when I disagree. Perhaps it is the strong religious and spiritual essence of this place, but I often find myself thinking of a prayer my mother told me once: “God, give me the courage to change the things I can, the strength to accept those I cannot, and the wisdom to know the difference.” A recent musical version of the prayer by musician India Arie adds a final line. As I think about the moments of pure magical happiness and the times of intense frustration that are
both baggage on this road of cross-cultural explorations of the world, I join her in asking beyond differences and similarities to also always have “the serenity to love [those around me and these fascinating experiences] with an open heart.”

Thank you for being in my life!

Sylvia with Children at Lagoro Camp